


Tiger Balm

by phantomreviewer



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-06
Updated: 2010-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chandler suffers from terrible headaches, sometimes he needs helps soothing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger Balm

Chandler was resting his head in the crook between his forefinger and thumb, rubbing intermittently, as he stared, unseeing at the files in front of him. His head was throbbing with the underlying headache that he'd been suffering from all day. It had come about a few hours ago, when he'd been lent over Kent's desk, talking to the young DC about the suspect's movements. He'd clenched his teeth, and tried to listen to Kent's keen chattering, but Kent had broken off mid-sentence.

"You alright sir?"

He'd started to nod, but the movement had sent a spasm of pain down his neck. He'd tightened his jaw, swallowed and motioned for Kent to carry on.

He had done, but his report was scattered as he shot concerned glances towards Chandler, and Chandler holding himself up on the edge of the desk.

He'd excused himself from the main room and walked, as steadily as he could into his office, making sure to turn the light off as he entered.

He could feel, like pinpricks the stare of Miles and Kent on his forehead as he lent over the desk. But he didn't look up, instead reaching mindlessly for his tiger balm, unscrewing the cap and dabbing it on his temples.

That was two and a half hours ago.

Miles had stuck his head around the door an hour previously, and Chandler had waved him off for the night, wincing as the movement struck his neck.

He been reading the same page on the file for roughly twenty minutes. The text failing to permeate his headache.

He groaned, faintly, as he removed the hand at his temples and reached down to turn the page.

If his headache hadn't intensified to the level that even the soft swell of his own breath rocketed like a cymbal in his brain, the opening and closing of the door would have gone unnoticed. As it was however, the near silent creak felt like a pin in his brain.

"Not now."

Chandler didn't raise his head from it's position, laid like a prayer parallel to the desk.

And then, a pair of hesitant hands made there way to bracket Chandler's neck. He flinched, although unconsciously, and then relaxed into soft pressure of them.

"Is this alright sir? I-"

Chandler hummed softly, but loudly enough for Kent to feel the noise through his fingers. The starch of Chandler's collar irritated into his palms, as he -biting his lip- dug his thumbs into the base of Chandler's neck.

The flinch wasn't involuntary that time.

"Gods Kent."

Kent winced at the pain in Chandler's voice.

"Sorry sir, it's just. Well, I noticed earlier, and I thought."

Chandler's voice came out as a whisper in the silent office.

"No, thank you Kent. Just-"

His sentence was cut off by the jabbing motion of Kent's fingers, like a flock of hungry seagulls, to the base of his skull.

"Sorry sir!"

Chandler could feel Kent's fingers tensing up, out of unjustified panic.

"Kent, Kent, look, it's out of hours, and I know you're not doing this as part of your job. Call me Joe."

It was softly spoken, but undoubted a command.

Kent chuckled, and his fingers loosened.

"Call me Emerson then."

It was something like a dare, and something like a challenge, however before Chandler could respond Kent's fingers had undertaken their task again, tugging and pulling at the knots that laced Chandler's neck.

They brushed Chandler's shoulders fleetingly, pushing out knots like the creases in silk, before they landed, softly on Chandler's scalp. Fingers radiating down, until fingertips touched brushed the hair from his fringe.

Then, there was a mouth brushing Chandler's ear, the rhythm of the breathing the same and the tide of fingers in his hair.

"Joe? Pass the balm."

Softly spoken, with the reverence of a question, but it was more than a request.

Joe reached the hand that was resting on the unread files, out to the small pot, and pressed into into Kent's outstretched palm, curling the fingers over it.

The removal of the hand in his hair was echoed by the twist of the Tiger Balm lid, and the metallic twang of the lid being placed on the desk. Chandler watched it spin to a halt.

Then there was the soft, yet heated press, of the resin against his neck. Chandler startled against the warmth of it, against his skin, against Kent's.

The motion, of deepening circles against the base of Chandler's skull was smoothing, and enough to lull what remained of his headache into Kent's hands.

Kent withdrew his hands, the tension having bled from Chandler like a knife wound.

"Em-Emerson please."

There was the flicker of a smile on Kent's face, and Chandler could feel it when Kent lent down, over his shoulder, and pressed his lips into his forehead.

"Home Joe?"

Chandler nodded, turning his head enough to press a kiss to the edge of Kent's jaw.

**Author's Note:**

> This ia an un-beta'd edit, I'll replace witht he editted version when it's completed.


End file.
